


Dinky

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dwarves have shrunk, making them perfectly sized for pocket-carrying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinky

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “For some reason or another our brave company find themselves being shrunk in Thranduil's prison thus allowing their escape, now they have to get to Erabor - or at least somewhere safe. + The dwarfs try to escape on their own. ++ Bilbo carrying the dwarfs in his pockets and on his shoulders” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22394859#t22394859).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’ll be uncomfortable, of course, riding down the river in sodden wine barrels. Still, Bilbo’s quite pleased with himself. At first, escape seemed impossible—with the aid of his ring, he can come and go as he pleases, but sneaking out so many large, loud dwarves is a whole other story. The fact that he has any semblance of a plan at all is certainly commendable. 

He’s fortunate, too, that when he slips into the dungeon, there are no guards inside. They stand outside the doors, likely to keep away from the smell and sound of their rowdy prisoners. From what Bilbo’s seen, the dwarves haven’t been at all polite about their imprisonment. He can’t really blame them, and for once, their bawdy nature’s come in handy.

He slips off the ring when he’s inside, quickly hurrying up the winding path, the stone cold and a little damp underfoot from the river that passes through. The first cell he comes to is empty, and it makes him stop, confused; he’d thought them all full—doubled up, in fact—but dwarves are rather hard to miss, and he doesn’t see anyone inside.

Until he hears a tiny voice, anyway, calling out, “Master Baggins! Down here!”

Bilbo isn’t at all accustomed to looking down, not since following a needlessly tall wizard and more than a dozen hefty dwarves, anyway. So he’s quite surprised to glance down, and see, to his astonishment, someone quite smaller than him. 

Bofur—unmistakable with his braided hair, two-pronged hat, and large smile—is _drastically_ smaller. He stands barely as high as the span of Bilbo’s hand, and he has to cup his tiny hands to his mouth to be heard at all. 

Kneeling numbly down, Bilbo doesn’t even have the words. He _stares_ at the tiny dwarf, and the two others beside him. Nori’s hair sticks him out plainly, but Dori’s takes a second for Bilbo to recognize, the top of his white head not so different than Balin’s or even Óin’s, at such an indistinguishable scale. While Bilbo ogles their irregular proportions, Bofur shouts, “We’re glad you made it out of the woods alright! And out of a cell, at that!”

Bilbo doesn’t have the wherewithal to answer. Quiet, for fear of knocking them over with his mere breath, Bilbo blurts, “What’s happened to you?”

Bofur’s pleasant face takes on a sudden scowl, and he glares sideways, repeating, “Yeah, _Nori_ , what happened?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Nori insists, first to Bofur and then up at Bilbo. “How was I supposed to know the bloody thing was cursed?”

“It’s what you get for being a thief,” Dori huffs, “Although I don’t appreciate you bringing it on the rest of us!”

A strange curse indeed, if that’s what’s happened, although Bilbo doesn’t ask any further—no sense in it. They clearly don’t know any more, nor would they, and it’s simply one of the many bizarre occurrences along the way that Bilbo will have to speak to Gandalf about. He only hopes whatever it is, it’s only temporary. Although they’ll definitely require less food along the journey, Bilbo doesn’t fancy being the only one capable of wielding a sword on their arduous quest.

Instead, he asks, “Why are you still in the cells?” It seems they don’t need him at all.

But Bofur shrugs and explains, “We wandered out for a moment, but then realized: where would we go like this? We couldn’t even reach the door handle!”

That makes Bilbo smile, and to the frown of his little friends, Bilbo laughs. He quickly explains, “This is marvelous. I can reach the door, of course, short though I may be by Elven standards, and it should be quite a bit easier to get you all out like this.”

“How come you haven’t been caught?” Nori asks, but Bilbo waves a hand.

“I’ll explain later. For now, we’d best get a move on before someone comes to bring your next meal.” The dwarves nod, and Bilbo looks around, surmising from what he can see of the other cells across the way that the curse affected them all.

It makes it pleasantly easy to collect them. He sticks his hand through the bars, and Bofur scrambles right up into his palm, clutching to his thumb to hold on, while Nori and Dori settle into his palm. Then Bilbo withdraws them to the pocket of his jacket, which they slip into with little ‘oomph’s before crawling about to peak over the edge. “Nice and warm in here,” Nori comments, while Bofur tugs his hat straight and Dori fidgets. Bilbo stands up very slowly, watching the little dwarves and trying not to knock them about too much, though he couldn’t have found a better people for it, and the dwarves don’t seem to mind the rocky ride at all.

He finds the next cell much the same. Even Dwalin’s scowl melts in surprise at him, and then a fond grin when Bilbo opens his pockets, depositing more inside. Even Bombur’s weight is nothing when this small, and Bilbo can fit four dwarves in either pocket snugly. He goes from cell to cell, collecting them, and rearranges them carefully, making sure that the ones who’re the most mad at Nori aren’t in the same pocket as him. He insists they have no proof it was his artifact, even though no one else has a better explanation, but Bilbo reminds them all it doesn’t matter right now. When his pockets are full, he carefully peels his coat open wider so he can place Balin in his vest’s breast pocket. Fíli and Kíli are small enough that they can fit in the other one together, and Bilbo has to take a moment with them just to internally squeal over how unbearably _cute_ they are. They have to be handled with care, and it makes Bilbo grateful that he’s the one still normal-sized, relatively speaking, as he’s the best with delicate things. They don’t seem particularly put out by the turn of events, but rather, pleased to be on the move. Ori he puts next to Balin, which is a bit of a tight squeeze but will have to do. 

Thorin is the last one, all alone in the highest cell. He sits alone, brooding against a wall, looking utterly adorable for all his attempts at gloom. Even he startles at the sight of Bilbo. A few of the other dwarves call him greetings just a little too quiet for Bilbo’s ears, but he catches Dwalin’s cry of delight to see their king unharmed. Apparently, their escape attempts hadn’t brought them this far, which isn’t surprising, given the new length of their legs. Sticking a hand through the bars again, Bilbo says, “It’s good to see you, Thorin! We have a lot of explaining to do, I imagine, but best do it when we’re out. Come on, now.”

“You’re a marvel, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin admits, as he pushes up to his feet and brushes off his knees. Like most of the dwarves, his voice seems slightly higher pitched for his new size. In a way, he looks just as regal as before, only now as some sort of handsome figurine in parody of a historical figure, rather than the man making history himself. He doesn’t seem to see the humour in it that some of the others do, though, and as he clambers into Bilbo’s palm, he growls, “The Elf King on the other hand... I’ll strangle him for this when I get the first chance!”

“It was no elf,” Dwalin throws in, pointing an accusing hand across to the other pocket. If he’s got one finger out, it’s too small for Bilbo to see. “You have your mischief maker right over there!”

Thorin glares at the pocketful of tiny dwarves, and Nori shrinks somewhat under the fabric, his two little hands still clinging to the edges and his nose sinking to the brim. “It was the only thing I managed to hide from the elves,” he whines, “and I was bored—it seemed only natural to play with it!”

Before Thorin can snap his answer, Bilbo cuts in. “You should all thank him, anyway. He made your escape much easier, and much nicer than what I would’ve had to do otherwise. We can walk right out now and deal with this strange magic later—it isn’t as if we haven’t overcome magical obstacles on this quest before!”

It’s true, naturally, but Thorin doesn’t look particularly appeased. It’s good that Nori’s pocket is full, because it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorin were to stay inside. From Bilbo’s breast pocket, Fíli and Kíli call, “Join us up here, uncle! There’s a little room left...”

“If you want to split my seams,” Bilbo mumbles, already having discarded the option. He’s already lost quite enough buttons on this quest, and as small as the dwarves are, they still take up a finite amount of space. He spends a minute or two deciding where to put the tiny king under the mountain, until finally, he decides aloud, “Well, there’s nothing for it.” He lifts Thorin up to his neckline, bidding, “You’ll have to hold on, but there’s simply nowhere else to go—I’d best leave my hands free, just in case.”

Bifur suddenly makes a loud noise, or as loud as he can, as indistinguishable as usual. Bilbo glances down to see Bifur fishing something out of the bottom of Bilbo’s pocket, which he holds up, as though clearing the way will make room for Thorin. The golden ring shimmers in the light, held in both Bofur’s hands and almost wide enough to drop over his whole body. Bilbo uses his free hand to take it with a quiet, “Thank you,” before Nori can get any ideas. 

Thorin grumbles, but it shows his commitment to the quest that he climbs over the top of Bilbo’s shirt, weighing it down so that the back cuts across his neck. With a bit of squirming, Thorin manages to position himself against Bilbo’s collarbone, his strong arms hanging over the neckline and clinging to the fabric, just in case. He feels something like a particularly small kitten, but cuter.

With all his friends in toe, Bilbo rises slowly to his feet. While he can, he holds one hand against Thorin, pinning him in place, Thorin clutching to him like a lifeline. Together, they make their way out of the dungeon, and out into the wide world full of many odd things.


End file.
